


Best Friends Forever

by anno_Hreog



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 07:24:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anno_Hreog/pseuds/anno_Hreog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boys grow up. To be girls. And boys.</p><p>In which Goyle is the only one who enjoys growing pains.</p><p> </p><p>[Written in 2005, right after <i>The Halfblood Prince</i> came out. Because Crabbe and Goyle being girls in pinafores was just too good.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Friends Forever

He’d always looked after Draco, he and Vince, but lately he was looking more at Vince. It was quite the natural progression of things, really. Draco would rage about one thing or another - Potter or Dumbledore or his Ancient Runes homework – and he’d turn to Vince and they’d snigger. Sometimes they'd secretly snigger _at_ Draco. He was so different from them, sharp and pointed in his temper, too. But he and Crabbe would guffaw and elbow each other good-naturedly.

Crabbe wasn’t sharp or pointed at all. He hadn’t lost any of the roundness around his cheeks at sixteen like Goyle had. His fleshy face was comforting to look at, indistinct as a baby’s - no cutting, angry edges. His eyes were like little black currants buried in a soft bun, and they hid under the soft flesh when he laughed. 

He and Crabbe hadn’t had a good laugh together in months. Not since term started. Draco had come back more tense and brittle than he’d ever been. He didn’t make up songs about stupid Weasley or play pranks on Potter. He reminded Goyle of a thin blade, bent back so far it would break or snap in your face. 

Goyle thought Draco was taking his growing pains too seriously. All he had to do was take a really long shower in the morning. Goyle was a recent convert to early mornings and long hot showers. He was sure no one heard him over the water – though he’d come back to Teddy Nott flinging a pillow at him once.

So, the way he figured, all Draco had to do was relax, have a nice, pleasant wank before breakfast, and he’d feel all better. Draco reminded him of his skinny old Aunt Matilda these days, the one who never married and never ever made any dessert. His father joked nervously that Aunt Matilda probably ate all her suitors. Greg didn’t think so. Aunt Matilda looked too pinched and hungr for that.

*

Crabbe didn’t want to talk about it – turning into a girl. 

He never got up and had a good wank with Goyle in the showers either, but Goyle had heard him jerk off after the lights went out, all muffled under the covers, like he didn’t want to make much noise. Crabbe was proper about things that way. 

Goyle wanted to ask him what if felt like – was it any different when you tried to do it all quiet and quick? Did his balls feel all tight before he came? Did he suddenly get hairy down there like Goyle did? Did he think about Madame Hooch naked when he wanked, too? Goyle had shot up (and around) faster than Vince or Draco had – he'd started shaving at thirteen – and had waited for them to catch up. Now that they had, Draco was a nervous wreck, and Crabbe didn’t want to talk about it. 

It got lonely in the showers sometimes. 

*

Goyle wondered how girls did it – he knew they didn’t have bits like his. He and Vince and Draco had paid Eloise Midgen two Galleons to show them her bits – or no-bits – back in fourth year. She’d lifted her pleated skirt, and the elastic in her panties would stretch only so far. Goyle couldn’t see a lot. Draco had gotten all excited and wanted to touch it, but got slapped in the face. Again. Goyle thought Draco didn’t seem to mind getting slapped that much. He’d followed Eloise around for weeks until Pansy Parkinson threw a tantrum and slapped him before the Yule Ball. Twice. Afterwards he asked her to the Ball.

When Draco told him and Crabbe that they had to Polyjuice into girls, Goyle thought finally, _finally_ they could have a good wank together like best friends. Or Draco could wank, and he and Crabbe could do whatever it was girls did. Goyle was sure girls wanked too – it was so much fun, surely they had to. He wasn’t sure how it worked, but that was probably why Draco wanted them to turn into girls. So they could find out?

So, it was very disappointing to find out that all Draco wanted them to do was follow him around Hogwarts castle – they did that when they were boys, anyway. Draco told them they had to stand guard and not attract any suspicion, but to rap on the door – two slow, three fast for the code – if they saw anyone coming down the hall. 

It wasn’t very exciting. No one walked down that corridor. 

*

Girls definitely had it better than boys. Or at least their clothes were so much better. Goyle liked how his knee socks fit snug and tight against his calves. Their panties were so much softer, too. Bras were a bit uncomfortable, though. His kept riding up. Draco glared at him when he tried to adjust his bra under his blouse. 

“Stop fondling yourself in public, stupid,” Draco snarled before he turned away. Goyle felt his eyes sting with hurt. It must be part of being a girl. This part wasn’t so nice. And Draco didn’t seem very interested in finding out how girls did it. He was cross and irritable and had dark circles under his eyes.

*

“And she gasped as his rough fingers parted her… m-m- moist folds, and his clever tongue lapped at the petals of her wo-wo-wo-womanhood. She was weak before his a..a…ass… no… assault, as wave upon wave of p-p-pleasure crashed over her h..helpless body and her thighs–”

“Could you just, _shut up_?!” Crabbe snapped at him. Goyle looked up from the book, startled. 

“But, I got to the good part! Don’t you want to- ”

“It’s filthy and disgusting, and I don’t want to hear it, so shut _up_!” Crabbe turned to his side and pulled the covers over his head. 

“I just… I just wanted…” To know how things worked, he wanted to say. I just wanted us to all be friends again.

Goyle stared at the sullen lump of bedclothes that was his best friend. He didn’t want to cry again – Draco had hit him this morning because he cried. He'd yelled that boys didn’t cry, and kept hitting him and hitting him and hitting him, until Crabbe and Zabini pulled him off of Goyle. He looked a little mad, the whites of his eyes bloodshot. Goyle remembered that the Blacks all went mad young.

He’d gotten the book off Milicent Bulstrode yesterday – she’d stuffed it in a brown paper bag and passed it to him during History of Magic. There was a very pretty witch draped across a naked Muggle on the cover. It was the _Forbidden Love_ series. Millicent had stolen it from Hannah Abbott, who’d gotten it from Lavender Brown, whose aunt worked at Flourish and Blott’s.

The witch’s bright purple robes were slit up to her waist – they were the same color as the nice robes Professor Dumbledore wore for the Halloween Feast. She didn’t have much covering up her chest, though. They were much bigger than the slight buds Goyle got when he turned into a girl. And he could see her nipples against the robe, like little pebbles. His nipples never stood up like that. Not even when he was a girl. Goyle rubbed at his flat, pudgy chest under his pajamas and wished he were a girl now. Boobies were so soft and comforting. He wondered what they would feel like under his fingers.

*

Draco didn’t say he was sorry the next morning. He never did. But usually, he’d try to be nicer and let Goyle or Crabbe – whichever one he’d yelled at – pick out the breakfast pastries first. 

This morning, he barely glanced at either of them. Crabbe wasn’t talking to Goyle either. He pursed his lips before he turned to talk about his Herbology project with Nott. Goyle pushed his porridge around with his spoon until it got cold and sticky. When he looked up, Harry Potter was staring at Draco’s head from the Gryffindor table. Draco didn’t notice. He kept shredding his bread roll savagely, and left the table without eating it.

*

Madame Malkin’s had mail order catalogues through the Owl Post. Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass had left them lying around the common room, and Goyle had flipped through them a couple of times when nobody was looking. 

The hallway was empty as usual. Crabbe had wandered off down the other end. He got bored of guard duty. Goyle shifted the heavy brass scales to his other hand, and wondered idly if he could order a dress off the catalogue. He wanted something in pink, maybe with frilly, lacy white things that froufed up the skirt. Maybe he could get a nicer bra too. He could be utterly _wicked_ , and get a _black lace_ bra. He could wear his neat white blouse with its peter-pan collar over it, and the black would show through. Nobody would see it in this empty hallway, but maybe… maybe…

He felt a warm whisper tickling his ear, rough, strong fingers gripping his arm. 

“Hello… you’re very pretty, aren’t you?” Harry Potter teased.

Goyle shrieked and threw the brass scales up in the air in surprise, before he ran down the corridor. He could hear Harry Potter laughing behind him.

*

He ran and ran until he ran out of breath and into the girls’s bathroom. Goyle bowed his head down to the white wash basin and panted until the mad thump in his chest slowed down. He looked up – a scared little girl looked back at him in the mirror. The Polyjuice Potion hadn’t worn off yet. His blouse was damp from sweat. He unbuttoned it down to his navel and tried to fan himself with it. 

He looked back in the mirror, a little calmer. Potter was right for once. He _was_ a very pretty girl. His little nose was small and pointed – just like Draco’s – and face was heart-shaped. He did look quite sweet. Goyle would ask himself to go to Hogsmeade with himself if he could. That thought hurt his head.

He looked down at the simple white training bra under his open blouse. His tits were barely filled it out- but they _were_ tits. He unclasped his bra and cupped one in his small hands – it seemed stranger that his hands were so delicate and tiny than that he had breasts. He rubbed at the soft nipples until, yes, they hardened under his thumb. Goyle remembered Harry Potter’s fingers on his shoulder, and imagined them on him, squeezing his soft flesh twisting his nipples, reaching down into his panties and... He felt a chill down his spine – it felt scary and wonderful all at once – when the chill turned sickly and his breasts flattened and his hands grew larger, and he was looking at his big, oafish face again.

*

Goyle didn’t put on his pajama top that night. He felt defiant. Crabbe ignored him with only a dark glower and turned over. Goyle could hear his steady snoring before the lights were out. Draco still hadn’t come back. 

The snakes embroidered on his canopy were curling around each other. Goyle smoothed the palm of his hand over his flat chest and imagined his girl’s tits. And large nipples that hardened under his fingers. He pinched and rubbed at his smaller, flatter ones, until they were hard. Not as perfect as this afternoon, but it was better than nothing. 

He heard the door close quietly and saw a white, silent figure in the dark. It was Draco. The moonlight glinted off his pale hair.

Draco was standing in front of his own bed and staring down at it. Goyle tried to slowly adjust the covers over his chest while pretending to be asleep. He didn’t want Draco to catch him not wearing his pajama top to bed.

Crabbe’s loud snores rumbled peacefully over the otherwise eerie silence. When Goyle finally opened his eyes a sliver to check, Draco was looking down at him. Goyle almost shrieked in shock, then remembered, he wasn’t a girl right now.

“I know you’re not asleep,” Draco said wearily. Goyle looked up at him and blinked. He couldn’t see Draco’s face, but his voice sounded tired.

“I… I’m sorry I ran away…” Goyle said. 

“It’s all right.” Draco fidgeted in place – the way he used to during boring History of Magic lessons – and finally said, “Could I… could I stay with you for a bit?”

Goyle nodded, dizzy at the thought – maybe he’d fallen asleep and this was some crazy dream – and pulled back the covers. Draco climbed in and curled up into a ball, his arms hugging his knees, his back to Goyle. Goyle looked at Draco’s back, tense and wound to snapping like the rest of him, and stroked it gently until his shoulders weren’t so hunched up, until his spine relaxed, and after a while, Draco turned slowly under his clumsy hands and buried his face in Goyle’s chest. 

“You’re not wearing your pajamas,” Draco muttered against his right nipple. He shivered against Goyle like frightened animal.

Goyle stroked Draco’s soft baby hair over and over. “S’okay, Draco. Everything’s going to be fine,” Goyle said awkwardly. 

“Could I…? I mean… My clothes are choking me,” Draco said quickly. Goyle nodded – he didn’t know what else to do. Draco never asked permission for anything. 

Draco unbuttoned his pajama top and tossed it on the floor, then he shuffled out of his bottoms too. He pressed against Goyle and sighed quietly. Goyle wished he was a girl, so he could be gentle and delicate, but Draco didn’t seem to mind. Goyle kept stroking his hair, then his back. Draco’s skin was warm and soft under his big rough hands. He was so pale, Goyle thought he would be cold as ice – but Goyle could feel every ridge on Draco’s spine, standing out like an angry snake. His shoulders were painfully bony, and his hipbones dug into Goyle’s stomach. Wait a…

“… mmm… this feels nice,” Draco said, sleepy and content. He rubbed up against Goyle, his warm, half-hard prick fitting snugly against Goyle’s. Goyle looked down wide-eyed in shock, and saw Draco’s eyes glinting up at him. They had the old mischief back in them. Goyle almost laughed with relief and held him close. He was so thin and slight, Goyle was afraid he’d crush him, but Draco ground against him impatiently, and Goyle reached down to hold their cocks together in his hand. His girly hands would have been too small. 

Draco’s breath hitched in his throat, and Goyle had to pull his head against his shoulder so he wouldn't make much noise. Crabbe’s snoring had died down, and he could hear owls outside. He felt Draco’s teeth on the curve of his neck as shoulder and he sped up his strokes. Sharp hipbones bruised his stomach and pain cut through his senses before Draco tensed up again and came over his stomach.

Goyle kept soothing circles into Draco’s back as he relaxed, until Goyle heard his breathing even out in sleep. He lay awake half the night, his prick aching between them, but he didn’t want to wake Draco by tossing off. Not when he was finally getting some rest. 

He looked down at Draco’s soft, shiny hair, and thought that Goyle would be the girl, he’d take care of him. Make sure he ate properly, too. Maybe next time Goyle could really be a girl. He felt big and clumsy next to Draco. Maybe they could both be girls – he could touch Draco’s breasts and Draco would touch his, flick his tonge around Goyle's nipples until they were hard. They’d hide under the covers, and finally find out how girls wanked. They could dress up in nice frilly skirts and he’d braid Draco’s hair. Goyle remembered that they hadn’t kissed yet.

When he woke up, it was late, and he still had a hard-on, but Draco was gone.

He blinked at the morning sun and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before Crabbe called him a filthy, disgusting pervert and punched him in the eye.

*

Crabbe was a sullen protective boulder, between Goyle and Draco. He glared at Goyle and hid Draco from view, handing him his toast and marmalade, which Draco nibbled on meekly. Draco was humming under his breath. When Crabbe turned to reach for the plate of kippers from Zabini, Draco peeked from around Crabbe’s large back and smiled at Goyle. Goyle smiled back.


End file.
